Orrico offered his hand.
"I'm sorry we have to meet under such a tragic circumstance, Mr. Frade," he said in perfect, British English. "I was privileged to call your father my friend. Please accept my sincere condolences."
"Thank you very much, Doctor," Clete said.
"Mr. Frade wishes to see Suboficial Mayor Rodriguez," Ramirez an-nounced.
"Of course," Orrico said, and motioned for them to enter the building.
"How is he?" Clete asked.
"Very fortunate." Orrico replied. "It could have been, should have been, a good deal worse."
"Speak Spanish, please," Ramirez ordered curtly, then looked at Clete and smiled. "My English, you will forgive me, is quite bad."
"Not at all," Clete replied in Spanish.
They boarded an elevator and rode to the sixth floor. When the door opened, a man in civilian clothing was sitting in a very uncomfortable-looking upright chair. Hanging from the back of the chair was a.45 automatic pistol in a shoulder holster. He stood up and came to attention.
A cop, Clete decided. One of el Teniente Coronel Martin's men ? Or Polic¡a Federal?
Orrico led them down a wide corridor to a room, outside of which sat an-other guard, this one with his.45 barely concealed in a holster on his belt. And he, too, came to an Attention-like position as Orrico pushed open the door.
A hospital bed, cranked up so that its occupant could sit up, held a heavy-set, closely shaven and shorn man in his forties. He was bare-chested, and there were bandages, some of them showing blood, on his chest and arms. His head was heavily bandaged, including one covering his left eye. He was Enrico Ro-driguez, late Suboficial Mayor of the Husares de Pueyrred¢n cavalry regiment of the Argentine Army.
When he saw Clete, he dropped the newspaper he was reading and tried to get out of bed.
"Stay where you are, Enrico," Clete ordered, walking quickly to him.
"Mi Teniente," Rodriguez said, his voice breaking, "I have failed el Coro-nel. I have failed you!"
"Don't be absurd," Clete said. He turned. "May I have a moment alone with the Suboficial Mayor, please?"
"Of course," Orrico said.
Clete had the feeling that Ramirez didn't like the idea, but he left the room with the doctor.
Suboficial Mayor Rodriguez was now sobbing.
Clete put his arms around him, felt his throat tighten and his eyes water.
"What happened, Enrico?"
"They were waiting for us about two kilometers from the house at Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo, where the road curves sharply?"
Clete nodded to show he knew where Rodriguez meant.
"They put a beef, a carcass, in the road. When I slowed to go around it, they opened fire...."
"Banditos?"
Rodriguez snorted contemptuously.
"Banditos like the 'burglars' on Libertador," he said.
"They were killed, I'm told, by the Provincial Police."
"They were killed so they could not be questioned by the clowns," Ro-driguez said. He customarily referred to the agents of the Bureau of Internal Se-curity as "the clowns."